


To the Victor Go the Spoils

by Gaerwen, Zath



Series: An Archive of Longing [2]
Category: Hearthstone - Fandom, Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Blending, Explicit Sexual Content, Ghosts, Hearthstone - Freeform, Hearthstone is a boardgame in this story's universe, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, One Night in Karazhan Medivh has been fused with World of Warcraft's Medivh, Past Character Death, Reunion Sex, Unresolved Sexual Tension, World of Warcraft: Battle for Azeroth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-18
Updated: 2019-06-27
Packaged: 2020-03-07 02:55:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18864292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gaerwen/pseuds/Gaerwen, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zath/pseuds/Zath
Summary: War with the Legion is over, but the Dark Titan Sargeras landed the final blow for his Burning Crusade. There can be no rest for the weary soldiers and civilians of Azeroth as once again, the Alliance and Horde prepare to wage war over a mysterious ore known as Azerite--better known as the lifeblood of the planet.Khadgar has seen so much war over the years, but this time, when the drums of war begin to beat, he… cannot answer its call anymore. He can't watch either faction tear itself apart, not while Azeroth is dying. With a heavy heart, Khadgar retreats from Silithus and the looming crisis to return to Karazhan once more in search of something that might save the warring factions from destroying themselves and the planet in the process. However, when he arrives in Karazhan, he cannot ignore the resurgence of old memories and the lingering feeling that the tower itself remains haunted.





	1. Before the Storm

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for checking out this story! This story was inspired by an actual ranked wild match of Hearthstone. I was playing as Medivh and went up against another mage who used Khadgar as his hero skin. Let's just say Medivh (and myself) got his ass handed to him through some clever and unexpected plays. 
> 
> I'm a huge fan of Hearthstone and its strong pun game. I love One Night in Karazhan's solo adventure, I love how it characterizes Medivh, but I also love broody Medivh. So, here's my attempt at fusing all of my favorite things about Medivh and Khadgar into one story. I hope you enjoy!

After everything that has happened in his life, Khadgar can hardly be surprised with much these days. Little catches him off guard, but sometimes he welcomes the unexpected in the face of rising tensions between the Horde and the Alliance.

The war with the Legion has ended. In the power vacuum left behind lies Azeroth herself at stake, with her lifeblood bleeding out from ruptures in the earth caused by Sargeras’ sword plunged deep into the heart of Silithus. There was no pause, no hesitation as both sides sought to pursue this lifeblood—Azerite, as Khadgar’s heard it called—for the purposes of war. In the face of this catastrophe, Khadgar couldn’t stand by and watch what he feared would inevitably come. He left Silithus to return to Karazhan once more.

He hated being right.

The moment he touched down before the front entrance of Karazhan, a messenger raven from Dalaran intercepted him, and his worst fears had been confirmed—Teldrassil, the heart of the Kaldorei people, had been destroyed in a terrible fire caused by the Horde, killing thousands of innocent people. They had used Azerite-infused weapons. Subsequently, the Alliance planned to wage battle at the northern shores of Tirisfal Glades to reclaim Lordaeron from the Forsaken. The letter was signed by none other than Jaina Proudmoore, his close friend who had already been so worn and beaten by the costs of war. Jaina had once been like him—seeking peace between the factions in the face of war, he’s told, while he served in the Outlands. Now, she was telling him that she would join the Alliance in battle, no longer content to let the Horde’s actions go unchecked.

Would he become like her, one day?

Before he entered the tower, Khadgar wrote a brief but heartfelt reply asking only one thing of Lady Proudmoore: for her to be safe. Then, as he watched the raven flutter off into the sky to return to its mistress, a terrible sense of grief and guilt washed over him. Would Alleria and Turalyon, more of his close friends, answer the call to battle, too, alongside Jaina? Would Kalec and the other mages of Dalaran? What about him, should he too fight in what would likely be another violent and disastrous war?

Khadgar couldn’t answer that for himself. Instead, as deep sorrow gripped his heart, as the aches and pains he has shouldered for so long began to wear at his endurance, he turned to the tower and retreated inside its halls.

He didn’t want to come here. He wanted to rest and recuperate, but with war on the horizon, he fears that Dalaran may not remain tenuously neutral and welcoming to his dissenting voice. No, there is nowhere else to turn to find answers about the mysterious substance bleeding from the Wound in Silithus. Magni tried to warn them about something hurting and threatening Azeroth, but he and the other members of the Council of Six had been too preoccupied with the Legion. How he wishes he had listened more closely.

The halls of Karazhan bring back many memories, some of which he wishes he could forget and some he hopes will never fade with the passage of time. As he climbs the meandering spiral staircase, his fingers brush against the stone wall, and Khadgar can feel energy pulse through the solid structure of the tower. Despite all that has happened, the tower is still alive thanks to the reestablished ley-lines buried deep beneath its foundation. It is here in these bizarre, enchanted halls that Khadgar evolved from a mere apprentice into a sorcerer who would be asked to help carry Azeroth’s needs upon his shoulders.

Khadgar didn’t want to come back to Karazhan a second time in less than a year, but dire circumstances once again outweighed his own discomfort.

When last he visited the old tower, the Burning Legion was invading Azeroth through a portal opened by the alternate Gul’dan at the Tomb of Sargeras. Khadgar came in hopes of finding answers about Azeroth’s history and the Pillars of Creation. Instead, he found the tower in severe shambles—and worse yet, the Legion infested its halls. Raw arcane power was tearing holes in reality and portions of the tower were becoming completely contorted. The demons seemed attracted to this source of power, perhaps hoping to find artifacts or even the remnants of the tower’s infamous tenant.

With the help of a group of Azeroth’s finest adventurers, Khadgar and the other heroes were able to not only dispel the Legion but also managed to contain the worst of Karazhan’s splintering. There remained, however, ghostly spirits of old, including many of Karazhan’s servants, guests, and even, to Khadgar’s shock, an echo of Medivh himself.

Khadgar reaches the top of the stairs and steps into the turret’s inner library. This place, this small sanctum, was his—this was _his_ library of the many within Karazhan. Little has changed, at least after a cursory glance. Books are strewn about—he had a tendency to be rather messy in his ambitious youth—but to his surprise, there is little dust on any of the tomes and some of them have been opened. He finds himself suddenly compulsed to tidy up, to put everything back into place, as if the process might shut away the potential resurgence of old memories.

Instead, cleaning up has the opposite effect.

Khadgar finds old magical journals and lexicons he used to enjoy studying. His signature motto, knowledge is power, was born here in this tower. There’s each volume of _The Schools of Arcane Magic_ , the entire series of _The Beginner’s Guide to Dimensional Rifting_ , and even Hemet Nesingwary’s _The Green Hills of Stranglethorn_. For hours, Khadgar would read by the small hearth in this library and absorb every book he could get his hands on. No page was unturned.

One infamous book, however, rests open and waiting atop the small table that rests beside one of the plush lounge chairs that face the hearth. Once his eyes fall upon it, Khadgar shamefully knows which book it is simply by the illustrated page its open to.

He finishes putting the other books back onto the bookshelves and then lets himself fall back into the plush chair with a soft grunt. He pinches his eyebrows, rubs at his brow, and tries ruefully to ignore the book glaring at him. But he’s tired from his long days of travel. He’s losing the battle holding back the legions of memories threatening to storm the gates of the fortress of his mind and heart.

In the end, Khadgar can’t resist temptation—not this time.

With an exasperated sigh, Khadgar grabs the offending book and closes it shut. The horrid cover stares back at him: a picture of two men salaciously embracing each other, their hair wind-whipped around them, with the novel’s title written beautifully in cursive at the bottom, _A Steamy Romance Novel: Savage Passions_. The cover alone shatters his resolve; memories come unbidden.

In his youth, Khadgar used to read this silly smut novel in secret in the bathtub, by the fire in this library, or in his bed under the covers with nothing but a spark from his fingertips to illuminate the pages at night. He wasn’t ashamed of the novels concept of two men loving one another (by the time he was sent to Karazhan as a young apprentice, Khadgar knew he was hopelessly attracted to both genders), but he didn’t want anyone in the tower to know he spent much of his time reading smut instead of doing something more important like practicing cantrips. More critically, however, Khadgar worried about the questions that might arise if someone—a certain someone—found out he was reading it. This rather silly worry was coupled with the fact that he found himself vicariously living through the characters. Marcus, the main character of the series, had just taken on a squire to be trained under his tutelage. The story depicted the forbidden romance between a master and a student. And, by the Light, Khadgar was hopelessly enthralled with longing for his own master—Medivh.

“Oh, what a fool I was,” he murmurs to himself as he cracks open the old novel with a twinge of regret.

“A fool? No.” A pause, and then a chuckle. “Well, perhaps a _tad_ foolish, but no more a fool than myself.”

Khadgar almost jumps out of the chair from the sudden extra voice in the library. He turns his head and finds a shade of his old master, the magus Medivh, staring down at him with his typical wry smile. He slams the book shut with one hand and then blinks rapidly in hopes that the vision will fade.

“What—Medivh? I-I thought—“

“The Legion could not harm me so long as the tower remained in tact. You and your champions ensured that Karazhan continued to stand.”

When Khadgar last stood within this tower, it was alongside adventurers and the shade of Medivh. Back then, he thought little of the ghost, presuming that perhaps it was a trick of the Legion. The Medivh he met back then explained that he was a shade much like his deceased father, and he vowed to help Khadgar protect Karazhan. Medivh said during the climax of the incursion that he would be willing to sacrifice himself to protect not only Khadgar and his champions, but also the tower. As they fought through the tower to reach the spire, reality had ruptured to the point where there were temporal anomalies playing out all around them—memories Khadgar had hoped to avoid reliving—and portals opening to other realms, including the Twisting Nether. By the end of it, Medivh ordered the living to go forward while he stopped the endless spew of demons infesting the halls from stopping Khadgar and the others from finishing their goals. When the battle was said and done and Karazhan was freed from the Legion’s hold, however, the shade of Medivh did not return. Khadgar did not linger, believing that all he had seen was a trick of the Legion or perhaps the side-effect of a hopeless heart.

“I’m surprised you returned, Young Trust,” Medivh says, pulling Khadgar from his memories from less than a year ago. “I thought after the Legion was dispelled you would stay awhile, but when my spirit found its way back to Karazhan, you were long gone.” He takes the book, setting it back onto the table, and the smoothness of fleshy fingers brush against Khadgar’s hands. “I could feel traces of you left behind within the tower. You were angry, confused, even disappointed.”

Medivh pauses and walks to the hearth. With a muttered incantation, fire erupts before him, bathing the small library in hues of orange and red. The shadows mingle with the creases of Medivh’s face, the noticeable signs of aging, and they make him appear morose and rather serious.

“I... I presumed you would not return again, at least not so soon.”

Khadgar frowns. “I didn’t expect to come back.”

Medivh nods and then tilts his head like a raven towards Khadgar. “Then what brings you here, my wayward apprentice?”

“Calamity, I’m afraid.”

“Ah, so another typical day on Azeroth.”

Khadgar grips the armchair tight in his palm in order to ground himself. He swallows down the angry retort that rises up his throat like bile— _You caused all this by summoning the Horde, you brought on these deaths, its their blood on your hands_. But none of those accusations would be true; it wasn’t Medivh, the man he foolishly loved and cared for, doing those things—it was Sargeras acting through him. Nonetheless, Khadgar had served as Medivh’s judge, jury, executioner, and perhaps his salvation. Medivh died but was freed from Sargeras, and in turn, the Dark Titan struck back, aging Khadgar’s body by several decades.

“What do you know of what’s going on outside of the tower?” 

A safe question.

“Very little, I’m afraid. My spirit is tethered to Karazhan. I could not leave even if I wanted to, and I have tried. I sense disturbances in the ley-lines, new fractures and stoppages that did not exist a year ago. Has another Sundering occured?”

“Not quite, though one did occur several years ago by the dragon Neltharion. This time, it’s different.”

Khadgar meets Medivh’s pensive gaze and almost regrets peering up into the glittering green eyes. He wonders how much he should tell Medivh about the cursed sword in the earth and who it belongs to.

“I can see you are quite guarded and tired,” Medivh admits. “Whatever has brought you to Karazhan is indeed dire. There is... so much I would like to know about what unfolded in the time after you left, but I think we both know you need rest after your journey.“

Khadgar knows its an opportunity to avoid explaining further. Medivh had his secrets, now it’s time for him to have some of his own. He is tired after his journey, but it’s from more than just his trip to Karazhan. Years of pent up emotions—grief, anger, disappointment, and worry—have almost calcified his heart. Yes, he had the strength throughout the war with the Legion time and time again to maintain his hope and his humor, but it was in part thanks to the rallying support he received from his friends and allies. Together, they stood stronger united to defend Azeroth. Now, however...

“May I offer some advice and a suggestion, Young Trust?”

In an act that surprises him, Medivh gives pause for Khadgar to answer. Typically, Medivh has always given his advice, wanted or otherwise, without hesitation. Curiosity gets the better of Khadgar.

“I... I suppose.”

Medivh moves to sit down in the other lounge chair across from him by the fire. He steeples his fingers and smiles sadly at Khadgar, who hates how even now, so many years removed from his youth, how that mournful smile stirs his heart.

“I think you deserve a break from your worries. You should devote some time for whimsy every now and then.” Medivh glances toward the fire and sighs wistfully. “I remember when you used to read that book with Moroes’ cat sprawled in your lap. You used to hide that book within the confines of another book, and you would sit there with such a focused look upon your face. You had the servants convinced you were studying, but I knew better.” Medivh chuckles softly. “Mostly because you once held the outer book upside down.”

The tension in the air suddenly feels palpable to Khadgar, who has grown more and more tense in his otherwise comfortable chair. There’s a schism inside of him—part of himself has been warped back to the past when an admission like Medivh’s would have turned him entirely into a blushing, awkward mess. The other half only grows angrier. What did Medivh know of his mental state? How could a ghost shuttered away inside of a tower know of what ailed him?

“Perhaps I should be honest. My suggestion comes partially from a place of selfishness. Though the ghosts of those I murdered do wander these halls and have since forgiven me for my actions, I have been terribly lonely over the years. No one... no one’s company quite compares to yours, Khadgar.”

“What do you want from me, Medivh?”

“I thought perhaps you might enjoy a game of Hearthstone, if you still play.”

Hearthstone? Well, that was certainly a _particular_ brand of whimsy his master once enjoyed. Medivh was known for his competitive nature, but for his overall sense of sportsmanship despite accusations of the man being a cheat. Khadgar always knew differently—victory was never satisfying for Medivh if he felt as though his opponent had thrown their victory or had misplayed significantly.

Yes, Khadgar still had an interest in the old card game. In spite of all that was happening across Azeroth, its citizens still partook in spectating or participating in Hearthstone tournaments. He remembers how many of the champions he has enlisted for aid over the years talked about playing in their spare time and the latest decks they used. Yes, even Khadgar, believed by some to be one of the greatest archmages Azeroth had ever seen, still kept up two decks he was rather fond of.

“Very well,” Khadgar says with a small smile of his own, “I’ll indulge you, but only because I think it might be good to partake in a little healthy competition.”

“Then why don’t we make this game a tad more interesting? Whoever wins gets to request something from the other.”

Now that’s a dangerous prospect. But it’s too late. The spirit of competition has already taken hold of him.

“Alright. I’ll agree to your bet.”

In the blink of an eye, Medivh summons a table between them with his old Hearthstone board atop it. Khadgar can’t help but chuckle to himself—he remembers this board all too well. It’s one of Medivh’s prized possessions, believe it or not, because it was commissioned specifically for him. Each corner has small painted wooden ornaments that mirror the various wings within Karazhan herself—a small stage for the Opera, a replica of this very library, a small sauna (Karazhan was once famous for its ley-enriched water), and a small alchemy station.

They haven’t even started the game yet, but as they set up, Khadgar already knows deep in his heart that Medivh has won him over. Whimsy overtakes his thoughts. How many times had they done this in the past? Spending an evening in this tower playing a game of Hearthstone or chess, each with a cup of tea, and the hearth blazing beside them. How many times had Medivh made this bet in the past, only for Khadgar to eagerly agree in hopes of one day beating his master and earning his reward at long last?

Khadgar digs into his satchel and retrieves the deck he uses only when he hopes to impress a lesson unto others. He has learned much over the years as a mage and as a simple man. This time, he intends to win.

Medivh places his deck on the board, and then, the board comes to life, glittering with magic. The board decides who will go first and draws their hands appropriately. Medivh goes first, and Khadgar receives the coin which will give him one extra mana during a turn whenever he chooses to use it.

With a determined glimmer in his bright green eyes, Medivh meets his gaze and plays his first card.

“Let the games begin.”


	2. The Burden of Miracles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Medivh and Khadgar have their friendly Hearthstone match and learn that sometimes the past cannot be avoided.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love wizard chess so much. That's basically what Hearthstone is, let's be real.

Khadgar has grown older, but perhaps not necessarily wiser in spite of his journey up to this point. If his own history was put to paper, the narrative would speak of a man with his heart on his sleeve, with his purpose grounded in protecting others to the point of self-sacrifice. Littered in those pages, however, his history would reveal much of his mistakes, his guilt, and the sorrow he carries for every loss he has felt. If the historian was astute and one who could read between the lines, his history would unveil that no loss affected him as fatally as the death of his old master, the one person he ever fell in love with, Medivh.

Historians might overlook his hobbies, however. Perhaps his affection for Hearthstone and his certain fondness for murlocs will be left to a footnote buried in the appendix of the tome. 

Time has taken much from Khadgar, but it has also been a great teacher. He has somehow managed to perfect his ability to bluff during a card game like Hearthstone. 

Khadgar plays a spell card, a secret, which will activate when certain parameters are met—when one of his minions dies, he’ll receive two copies of that card. The only minion representing his side of the board are three _Sorcerer's Apprentices_ , which reduce the cost of his other spell cards. In his hand, however, he has the combination of cards he needs in order to win, but his hero doesn’t have much health left. He has fallen from thirty hit points down to eleven, and at ten mana this late into their game, he runs the risk of losing due to any assortment of spells directly hitting his face. It’s a precarious gamble, but it’s one Khadgar has chosen to gamble on to ensure victory.

“I do wonder what exactly you and this deck of yours is trying to do, Young Trust.” Medivh takes a brief sip from his wineglass and then chuckles to himself. “You have played only a handful of cards, and those you played have been rather... questionable choices.” Medivh meets his gaze sternly and adds, “I truly hope you’re not throwing this game.”

Medivh plays a _Frostbolt_ , and a miniaturized ball of ice lunges from his side of the board to Khadgar’s, hitting him in the face for three points of damage. Then, he plays a _Fireball_ , which hits for six. Finally, he activates the mage hero’s class power, which hits him for one point of damage to the face. 

In total, Khadgar only has one point of life left, but Medivh ends his turn with one mana hanging. The threat of lethal looms overhead, but Medivh does not yet know what he has in hand.

“Hardly.”

Medivh doesn’t know what’s about to hit him. He played the game in his typical fashion, with a flashy, exciting deck with cards that had interesting effects but were dependent upon multiple levels of randomness working in tandem. Khadgar, instead, played for the longer, slower game.

“In fact, I am playing what I like to call a ‘Miracle Mage’ deck. You see, I drew quickly through my cards to lull you into a false sense of board dominance and to collect the pieces I needed to perform my win condition. Then, on top of this let me remind you—you let me get away with copying my _Sorcerer’s Apprentice_ cards without quickly removing them. Now, with no other cards in my deck and lethal looming overhead, I can safely say I can perform my deck’s one-turn-kill mechanic.”

Medivh blinks, narrows his brows, and opens his mouth as if to speak, but it’s already too late. The game’s about to end and the cards are already in play.

Khadgar plays _Archmage Antonidas_ , a legendary card that gives him a _Fireball_ spell every time he casts a spell. Then, he makes yet another copy of one of his _Sorcerer’s Apprentices_. With four on the board and suddenly zero-cost _Fireball_ spells recycling into his hand over and over, Khadgar makes sure to watch, with supreme satisfaction, as realization washes over Medivh’s features. His old master’s lips part in shock and his eyes widen just so.

“Well played, Medivh.”

Medivh tears his attention away from the Hearthstone board after the last Fireball spell hits his hero’s face, bringing him down to zero health.

“Checkmate,” Medivh murmurs with a small smile. “Well done, Khadgar. It seems you have much to teach me, old friend.” 

Khadgar can hardly believe it—he’s beaten his old master at one of his favorite games. As silly of a feeling as it may be for some, to Khadgar, it’s a serious accomplishment. Medivh never lost at any game he played, ever the astute gamesman. Dinner parties had been disrupted for far less strenuous of matches between Medivh and an opponent who turned out to be a sore loser. He genuinely won; Medivh would never throw a game, even the mere thought of losing used to make the man grouchy.

Khadgar slinks back into his chair and runs a hand over his face. He stares down at the Hearthstone board, where small magical fireworks go off on his side to celebrate victory. Somehow, this doesn’t feel real; it’s as if he’s partaking in a dream that has just now turned lucid. This would never happen in real life.

“This has been a surprisingly pleasant dream, one that I didn’t expect to enjoy as much as I have, but I think I will bid you a good evening and wake up now.” 

Khadgar closes his eyes, relaxes, and then reopens them. He blinks into the faint light and sees that everything’s as it was mere moments before, except Medivh has removed the Hearthstone board and the table separating them. Khadgar looks up and sees Medivh standing before him with that same small, sad smile.

“Why do you ask whether or not this is real? Am I truly so notorious for being a poor sport that I cannot be gracious when losing? You played magnificently...” Medivh pauses as he studies Khadgar’s features, and it feels as though those green eyes can see through him with ease. “To the victor go the spoils with our little bet.” 

Medivh reaches out carefully and touches Khadgar’s smooth cheek with the softest brush of his knuckles. Those knuckles, Khadgar realizes, are solid, real, and not ethereal like a ghost’s should be. Somehow, Medivh is alive in some shape or form.

“What do you ask of me, Khadgar?”

Emotions suddenly overcome Khadgar with one question whispered from Medivh. He feels tears well into his eyes and his entire body turns rigid in shock. One simple question takes him so far back into time, warped back to another state of mind, and self, when his life seemed so together and secure. He’s a young man again, sweating beneath the firm, mesmerizing gaze of Medivh, but this time, he isn’t shaking from arousal, he’s shaking from fear—fear of what will happen if he indulges this high-stakes game of charades any longer. 

“Why do tears spring to your eyes from my touch?“

Khadgar springs to his feet and tries to side-step Medivh, still expecting to phase through a ghost than to bump into a solid man. Medivh places a firm hand upon his shoulder as if to steady him.

“You’re supposed to be dead, Medivh,” Khadgar says, exasperation overcoming him. He pinches his brows and shakes his head. “Anduin and I... we... I killed you, you shouldn’t be—“

“I already told you. So long as Karazhan stands, I will be here, connected to this haunted place. Some days, yes, I am less corporeal than others. It depends upon my mood and the state of disrepair my tower is in.” Medivh gestures around them. “You and your champions disposed of the Legion, and you’ve even gone so far as to help clean up after yourself after all these years.”

“Medivh—"

The words of protest die in his throat. Medivh gives him a piercing look, his eyes glowing in the dim firelight. Khadgar feels the magic radiate off of him in waves, burning so much hotter than the fire itself that it almost becomes stifling inside of the library.

“I am not so self-centered nor as disconnected with Azeroth’s state of affairs that I am oblivious to my own apprentice and dear friend’s struggles. I know you came to Karazhan weary, tired, and anxious for what you would find here. I know you were hesitant to return to this tower, let alone this exact library, and I know _why_ precisely.”

Khadgar swallows heavily as he tries to force words past his heavy tongue. Khadgar feels like a young man once again as he stands before Medivh. The elder magus seems quite pensive yet remorseful, and he speaks softly, as if they may be overheard by wayward eavesdroppers. Medivh always had a tendency to be cryptic and mysterious, but tonight, in this library, Khadgar can easily read his older master as if he were a simple common manuscript. The intensity in Medivh’s eyes makes Khadgar’s heart race in his chest.

“Time has passed. Much has changed between you and I, but I know some truths will never change.” Medivh carefully takes him by the chin, holding his gaze, and his eyes flicker once down to his lips. “You were my beloved student, Khadgar, and you have left your imprint upon not only Karazhan but myself as well.”

A pregnant pause helps Khadgar reign in his racing pulse. Yes, after all this time, there is still something strong tethering him to Medivh and to Karazhan, whether he wants to admit it or not. And truly, deep down, Khadgar knows what truths lay wedged in his own heart.

Though the journey to this exact moment has been long and arduous, tiring and taking almost everything from him, yes, deep down, he still loved Medivh. He trekked through the Dark Portal and witnessed the horrors of the Outlands firsthand. He stepped forward through a second portal that swept him through time and space to an alternate Draenor. He watched old friends and loved ones die at the hands of the Legion over and over, and he wept for their losses. He ventured among the stars to reach Argus to see the Legion’s end and to seek justice for the fallen. He watched in vain as Sargeras drove a monstrous sword through his home planet. He stood aside and watched as the Alliance and Horde made preparations to war over Azerite.

Khadgar endured trial after trial, and if he’s completely honest with himself, Medivh has always been in the back of his mind. Medivh’s witty aphorisms found themselves repeated to new audiences by Khadgar. When an incantation from a young Kirin Tor apprentice went awry, he thought of himself as a young mage and sought to impart knowledge that had been passed down from his own teacher. In his darkest, lowest moments, doubt would ebb away at Khadgar’s resolve—he was never properly made into the Guardian of Azeroth, and yet many gave him the title. In waging wars with himself, Khadgar felt like an imposter, and he wondered what Medivh would think of him or what Medivh would do to solve a problem. Ultimately, despair and doubt would give way to loneliness if given enough time to fester. He missed the challenges Medivh presented to him, and often found himself missing the rare quality Medivh had to trust him and his ideas, no matter how absurd they seemed. Medivh also had a knack for knowing when he was hiding pain behind a smile or an otherwise cheerful demeanor. On a more intimate level, Khadgar sometimes felt so starved for touch. He longed to be held and told that everything would fall into place one way or another in due time.

Back in the moment, Khadgar feels quite dizzy and almost rendered speechless. Somehow, this still doesn’t feel real.

“I... I don’t know what to say.”

Medivh smiles half-heartedly, but the light fades from his eyes, which breaks Khadgar’s heart.

“Perhaps start with something simple, such as your victory request. You keep avoiding our little bet.” Medivh takes a step back, chuckles, and runs a hand through his dark hair. “Make sure it’s something you really want. I don’t intend to lose our next match.”

Khadgar takes a deep, staggering breath. He presses a hand to his chest, as if to quell his racing heart, and his fingers clutch onto the fabric of his rich blue robes.

“Do you hate me?”

“Hate you?” Medivh narrows his brows and tilts his head. “By the Light, why would I?”

“Because I killed you.”

The uttered admission sucks the air out of Khadgar’s lungs. He closes his eyes and feels a hot tear slide down his cheek, but it’s stopped in its tracks by Medivh’s thumb.

“My dear Khadgar, you did not kill me.” Medivh’s hand falls back to his side, and oh, how Khadgar wishes it would remain. “You saved me.”

Khadgar opens his eyes and his face burns when he sees that Medivh has closed the gap between them.

“I used to feel like a prisoner in my own body, rattling the bars hoping to one day break free. There were days where I felt more like myself, and then there were days where I tried to keep my distance from you, lest Sargeras harm you. I used to be so afraid of what would happen if I wasn’t careful, but it was never easy. You were such a bright student, so clever and charming, so innocent in your wide-eyed youth.”

Medivh frowns and his voice falls with weariness.

“I hated keeping parts of myself hidden from you to protect you from Sargeras, but I couldn’t... I was too weak, in the end. In one of my final acts of lucidity, I told Anduin to do whatever was necessary to protect you. I was losing the battle against the Dark Titan with each passing day, growing more and more mad, consumed by fel energies. I tried to push you away, I tried to make you hate me, but you, Khadgar... You were so inquisitive, so worried for me. Little did you know how much harder staying ahead of Sargeras became.”

Medivh runs a hand over his face in shame.

“Eventually, I lost control over myself, and that was when Sargeras uncovered my darkest secret. You were in so much danger then and you didn’t even know it. I will always be grateful that Anduin helped you get away.”

Khadgar blinks and frowns. “What happened, Medivh? Why did you send me away? I knew something was wrong, and I wanted to help. I didn’t want to leave you behind in Karazhan alone.” 

“Is this your request Khadgar, to know more about the past?” Medivh sighs quietly. “Do you truly wish to know?”

Khadgar looks away, his eyes shutting tight in pain.

“Of course I want to know. I felt so foolish and confused. I wondered what I had done to lose your favor that you would send Anduin and myself away. I know I was sent to spy on you, but you knew that too. Karazhan was the first place I felt I could call a home, despite its faults. Being dragged away by Anduin...” He opens his eyes slowly and turns his head to stare back at Medivh with his heart in his hands. “It broke my heart. All I ever wanted to do was stay by your side.”

Medivh cups Khadgar’s cheek, and his voice cracks pitifully as he speaks, “My dear Khadgar, that is precisely why I had Anduin take you away in the first place—little as that did, when it seems you were determined to return one way or another.”

He pauses in thought, and when Medivh speaks again, Khadgar realizes what his old master is implying. 

“When Sargeras learned how much I wanted you, how deeply and truly I loved you, I knew you were in so much danger. I had to let you go, even if it left you confused and feeling abandoned. Do you have any idea how terrified I was to see you return once more with Anduin? I thought I would surely kill you both. Instead, you fought well, defeated me, and thus exorcised Sargeras from my body and spirit. I hope you can forgive me, Khadgar, for the misery I imposed upon you. Dying in your arms, grateful as I was, is not how I wanted to tell you that I loved you.”

Khadgar’s heart falls into the pit of his stomach. He clasps a hand around his mouth in shock, his eyes wide, and suddenly his knees feel weak and frail. Memories flash before his eyes, and then a moment later, he realizes as a frantic, urgent voice fills the air, that Karazhan itself has begun replaying the fateful day for the both of them to see. Khadgar turns his head, petrified by what he sees unfold.

There kneels his younger self, who plunges a curved dagger through the heart of Medivh. A bright green light fills the library, almost blinding him, and with a roar, the demon within his master is expunged from the dying man. When it fades, all that remains is wreckage. Khadgar shouts his master’s name, begging for him to stay, screaming that he’s sorry, that he should have done more. Futilessly, he tries to stop the profuse bleeding from Medivh’s chest with his palm splayed over the wound. The dying Medivh grabs hold of Khadgar with a trembling hand and pulls him close. Then, Medivh struggles to form words with his final breaths. 

_I... lo..._

The image of Medivh never finishes the word.

This moment was burned into Khadgar’s memory. The blood of his master never truly washed away. He assumed that Medivh meant to say, I loathe you. After all, who wouldn’t loathe the man who betrayed his teacher, his best friend? 

But Khadgar pays closer attention this time with a clearer head. He was wrong, all this time. The tower of Karazhan herself sought to prove it to him—Medivh uttered the words I love you with his dying breath.

“All this time...” Dizziness washes over Khadgar. The world starts to tilt on a foreign axis. Fat tears blur his vision. “I thought... I thought you hated me for what I had done!”

Medivh catches Khadgar before he collapses and pulls him into a tight embrace. He cradles Khadgar to his chest, holding him so gently, and it’s for the best, because he may yet shatter.

“No, my dearest Khadgar, I wanted you to know the truth.” Medivh shudders, and his whole body trembles. “To think all this time you believed I hated you... It pains me to know you never knew how much I love you.”

Every emotion stewing within Khadgar collapses together, like a galaxy swallowing itself whole. His thoughts spark and short-circuit. Restraint and decency fly completely out the window. Khadgar leans away, tilts his head, and presses a sordid kiss to Medivh’s lips, catching the elder magus temporarily by surprise. Hesitation evaporates in the heat they create. Medivh pulls Khadgar closer, wrapping his arms around him, and kisses him harder. It’s a kiss that has waited over ten years for these confessions, and all the years of wondering, questioning, and wallowing in loneliness washes over him like a powerful tide.

Arcane energy sparks at his fingertips. Strong emotions become a conduit to channel power throughout his body. Sensation ripples up and down his spine. Khadgar pulls back ever so slightly, opens his eyes, and feels the whirlwind of magic around them. 

This isn’t new to him; magic has always influenced his emotions and vice versa. Khadgar has both been complimented on his ability to contain such raw power and has also been warned to keep himself in check. 

Medivh smiles at Khadgar and runs a hand through his white hair to soothe him, to help him relax. Khadgar has felt so taut like a bowstring he feared he might snap under this new reality. To think, he could have had Medivh sooner, if only he had... 

“Medivh, I...” He doesn’t even know where to begin. This is not at all what he expected when he decided to come to Karazhan. He tries to steady his thoughts, to focus on something rational in the face of the unexpected, but the typically verbose Khadgar finds himself at a loss for words.

“There were so many times when I wanted to...” Khadgar starts, only to trail off when he sees Medivh gesturing towards the hearth.

“Come, lets sit by the fire and talk.”


	3. An Archive of Longing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Karazhan has revealed certain truths about their past, Khadgar and Medivh settle down to reminisce about better days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heed the tags on this fic. They come into play here. Thank you for stopping by, enjoy chapter three!

Though the hour has grown late, the fire still crackles at full strength in the hearth.

Khadgar has not felt this at peace in years, resting beside his mentor and beloved friend. With his head nestled on Medivh’s shoulder, he feels as though heavy weights have begun to be lifted off of him. The burdens outside this tower have faded to black, as if the magical wards of Karazhan have shielded him from the pain he brought with him.

Medivh can play many parts well. A brooding, weary Guardian. An austere, proud teacher. A brilliant, charismatic entertainer. He has since removed the long crimson robe and has revealed the loose, billowing black long-sleeved shirt and trousers he wears beneath. In this moment... Khadgar sees Medivh as just a man, vulnerable but certain. 

“Does Karazhan retain all of our memories—could I recall any to life if I... asked the tower to replay them?” 

“Not quite. You know how Karazhan is. Sometimes the tower’s visions feel like lucid dreams, where one can act upon what’s happening. Sometimes we see mere apparitions. Sometimes Karazhan reacts to our emotions in unexpected ways.” Medivh sighs as he looks around Khadgar’s old library with warm affection. “We made so many memories here within our ivory tower…”

Khadgar smiles half-heartedly. “Good memories, I hope?”

“Yes, of course.” Medivh chuckles to himself and leans back in the chair with a wry grin. “I enjoy recalling our time together—I cherish those moments, and I hope you know how much I appreciated having you around. I know I was a difficult teacher, but you were unlike any person, let alone any apprentice, I had met before.” 

“I sometimes have a hard time understanding why you wanted me as your apprentice when so many other mages, better ones, even, were declined.”

“It’s quite simple, really.” Medivh reaches out to cup Khadgar’s chin. “You listened, you respected my skill, and your humility endeared me to you. You wanted to learn, to become better, and you were willing to push yourself. You had a stubborn streak, too.”

“I remember being so determined to impress you, perhaps to my own detriment. I wanted to prove I belonged in Karazhan as your student.” Khadgar pauses. “Except when I accidentally polymorphed myself into a sheep and couldn’t turn back.” He scratches the back of his neck and laughs meekly. “I don’t think any other experience in my life has filled me with such embarrassment. It was a rather _baaad_ situation.”

Medivh groans. “Please do not start with your puns.” 

“When you turned me back and didn’t scold me, I felt so relieved.”

“I was genuinely concerned, Khadgar. I’ll never forget hearing you bleating for help and rushing into my study.” Medivh smirks. “I knew I loved you, however, when you quite literally fell into my lap while so engrossed in a book. What were you even reading, I wonder? That smut novel, I imagine.”

Khadgar blushes deeply and laughs even more nervously. The hour had been late, and he had been enthralled in another book (it was a romance, indeed). He had not been paying much attention to where he was walking, and by accident, he stepped right into Medivh’s armchair and lurched forward. The book went elsewhere, but Khadgar fell partially into Medivh’s lap head first while his master was reading.

“You... You remember that?” 

“I remember you scrambling to stand up straight, with your face as red as my robes.” Medivh shrugs. “I found it charming. I suppose it didn’t help that I knew you had feelings for me.” He raises a hand to silence Khadgar’s word of protest. “Yes, I certainly knew. You were not exactly subtle. You wear your heart so proudly upon your sleeve, I’m afraid.” He frowns, suddenly pensive. “I remember laying in bed later that night regretting that I did not kiss you when I had the chance, even if it risked exposing my feelings for you to Sargeras.”

“Medivh...”

“I mean it when I say I longed for you. I wanted you to know the truth so badly. I hoped for this moment for so long, but I knew then that I needed to protect you at all costs, even if that cost meant our happiness.”

Khadgar doesn’t like the defeated way Medivh says it, and he would like to think that perhaps their lives were not so black and white, so life and death back then... but, he knows different. Sargeras made Medivh sick, physically and mentally, and to complicate that struggle even further with the confession of feelings could have turned disastrous. If Khadgar had been in Medivh’s shoes, he’s not certain if he would have been strong enough to stay at arm’s length.

“I think its your eyes that won me over, originally,” Medivh whispers softly, and Khadgar appreciates the change of subject. He touches Khadgar’s upper lip with his thumb and studies his face. “I remember how animated you used to become when you practiced spells. Burning hot with determination, sometimes as cool and gentle as a calm lake.” Medivh sighs. “I wondered how anyone could look at me with as much desire and yearning as you did.”

Khadgar can’t look away. Drawn to Medivh’s flame, his heart begins to pound, and he takes a chance. He moves to sit in Medivh’s lap, wraps his arms around his neck, and tries something he’s never done before—to be sultry and desirable.

“After all this time, there remains only the two of us.” Khadgar’s eyes fall half-lidded as they settle upon Medivh’s lips. “It seems I have fallen into your lap once more.”

It’s an invitation for intimacy, something Khadgar has never offered to anyone else in his lifetime. Sure, there have been those in the past who tried flirting with him, but he had politely denied all advances. He didn’t feel he deserved it, and in fact, in the deepest recesses of his heart, he wondered if he had been cursed at birth to always lose those he loved.

Thankfully, before such thoughts poison his mood, Medivh pulls him away from the precipice with a deep kiss.

Everything Medivh does is done with precision and care. He parts Khadgar’s lips with a swipe of the tongue, and then his master is exploring the warmth of his mouth. There are breathy, momentary interludes when Medivh draws back to look at him, to measure Khadgar’s response. It’s a mere kiss and Khadgar feels as if he has died and ascended to the heavens. His toes curl in his boots, and he feels so young and starved for Medivh’s touch—it is after all his second kiss, ever.

Medivh buries a hand into Khadgar’s grey hair and grips him tight. He draws Khadgar’s head back, angling it, and a trail of kisses slide down his neck, lingering on his pulse point. It’s in that moment that Khadgar realizes, gasping, that he wants Medivh to be rough, to command him, to resolve decades of pent up sexual frustration. 

“I have never been with someone,” Khadgar admits softly with a flush of embarrassment. He’s a man over fifty and he’s never slept with anyone. “I... I apologize if I’m bad at this.”

Medivh pulls away from kissing above Khadgar’s collar and smiles sympathetically.

“My dear Khadgar, there is nothing to be ashamed of, let alone to apologize for.” 

Medivh’s smile morphs into a toothy grin that sends a shiver down Khadgar’s spine.

“In fact...” The hand in Khadgar’s hair slides down his back and stops at his tailbone. “The thought of being the first person to ever make love to you is... _Exhilarating._ ”

“I always wanted it to be you...”

“Well, Young Trust, there is much to teach you, but I think you have some explaining to do regarding this first.” Medivh playfully toys with the leather belt clasp around Khadgar’s neck. “Hmm?”

Khadgar swallows thickly, and his cheeks burn. He can already surmise what a devil like Medivh is already thinking. “It’s... It’s just part of my robes.” 

“If you say so,” Medivh smiles innocently and shrugs his shoulders. “I think we will need to revisit the topic at a future time, but, for now...” He leans close and murmurs in Khadgar’s ear, “Give yourself to me. Tell me what you want me to do.”

“I... I...”

Medivh draws Khadgar’s lobe between his lips and starts to suck gently.

“There’s no need for meekness, Khadgar. I’ll take care of you, trust me, but I need you to say it.” 

There’s a moment of silence that passes between them, leaving nothing but the crackle of the fire. Medivh watches him closely, his green eyes heavy with barely contained lust.

“For so many years, I dreamt about this,” Khadgar confesses softly with a small smile. “I... I‘ve waited so long...” He groans and falls forward, burying his head into the crook of Medivh’s neck where he can muffle his plea. “Make me yours.” 

“As you wish.”

With an uttered incantation and the flick of his wrist, Medivh teleports the two of them to his bedchambers. They apparate beside the bed, and Khadgar takes a slow look around. He remembers this place, too, like all of Karazhan. For all of the years that have passed, Medivh’s quarters are surprisingly clean and well-maintained. There’s a stately, large bed in the center of the room with draping curtains that faces a set of wooden doors leading to a balcony. A writing desk rests nestled in a corner, and much like Karazhan’s other rooms, there is a fireplace and many filled bookshelves. Medivh’s personal trinkets and artifacts that survived looters and plunderers alike lay sprinkled around the room.

Medivh lights this room’s fireplace—after all, Karazhan can sometimes grow quite cold—and the array of candles around the room. Then, he turns back to Khadgar with a playful smile.

“I could undress you quite literally with a glance if I willed it...”

Slowly, Medivh advances forward, step by step, and Khadgar swallows thickly. Can he really be so sure Medivh isn’t already doing just that with the look in his green eyes?

When the backs of Khadgar’s knees hit the edge of the bed, he places a steadying hand upon Medivh’s chest right as an arm wraps around his waist to keep him upright.

“However, to use mere magic to dispose of your clothes... Well, that wouldn’t be any fun, would it?” Medivh chuckles. “I prefer a more hands-on exploration, wouldn’t you agree?”

Khadgar shivers, his cheeks burning, and nods. He licks his lips, glances down at Medivh’s smart mouth, and then steals a kiss.

To kiss Medivh after all this time leaves Khadgar breathless. It’s hard to imagine what the rest of their evening will do to him, because merely being in Medivh’s arms makes him melt.

Medivh starts to undress Khadgar, first with the heavy hexweave indigo and brown tunic he always wears. With each button snapping open, Khadgar’s stomach flips in anticipation. After the final button is unfastened, Khadgar shrugs out of the coat and lets it fall to the floor at their feet. With one layer gone, Medivh lowers him to the bed dressed in a cream colored shirt and blue trousers. He kicks off his boots with Medivh’s help and then settles more comfortably into the bed, resting on his elbows. 

Khadgar gets a good look at Medivh as he bends down to collect the discarded coat and to drape it over one of the lounge chairs in the room. It’s a mere test of his patience, certainly, and a hint of vanity. Medivh always wore well-fitting clothes that complimented his tall, lean physique, and Khadgar is sure to drink it all in while he waits.

Medivh joins him in bed after removing his own tall boots. He crawls over him with a sly smirk and eyes that seem to glow in the firelight.

“If only you could see yourself now. Almost trembling as much as when you came to me polymorphed as a sheep. I wonder why?”

Medivh props himself above Khadgar and cups his neck carefully, tilting his beloved’s head and forcing Khadgar to look into his eyes.

“You will be mine, Khadgar. No one else will know you as I do.”

“Please...” Khadgar says with a flushed face. He feels as though he’s off balance on a tightrope, poised to fall if Medivh pushes him much further. He isn’t trembling from nervousness—he’s aching from anticipation. “I...” 

Medivh silences him with another kiss, parting lips, and a tongue meeting his. Khadgar runs his hand over Medivh’s dark hair, and he pulls the ribbon tie holding back the raven locks until it all comes loose and falls forward. Kissing, so new and so delightful, astounds Khadgar. These are the many firsts of the evening—sharing breath and knowing the comforting weight of the body above him. Medivh draws out the softest of moans from him like a skilled musician, plucking the correct chord at the correct time, making someone as touch starved as Khadgar curl into him.

Then, warm lips trail down his jaw, along his neck, lingering on his adam’s apple, and then they meet the hem of his shirt. Medivh leans back and helps Khadgar out of it, flings it aside, and before he returns to his conquest, he admires Khadgar’s chest.

Medivh’s hands cup each of Khadgar’s pectorals, squeezing them, and his thumbs draw circles over either nipple. The touch ignites fire under Khadgar’s skin, and blood superheats into magma when Medivh bends down and draws one into his mouth. Gentle swipes with his tongue precede the playful tug of teeth.

“Ah!”

A smirk spreads across Medivh’s face, and as he moves further south along the plains of Khadgar’s torso, the bristle of Medivh’s beard sends tremors up and down Khadgar’s spine. 

Khadgar can’t look away, transfixed by the sight of his old mentor and friend moving dangerously close to the now noticeable tent in his trousers. He’s lusted about this before, hopelessly, and he spent many an evening imagining a scenario like this unfolding—whether in a chair, the bath, or in bed, he always wondered what it would be like to have Medivh touch him intimately. Insight from his romance novels helped fan the flames of desire, but after so long, he has only known his own touch.

To Khadgar’s dismay, Medivh seems to avoid the point of no return and appears quite content to draw it out. There’s no flurry of movement, no rush, no desperation in Medivh’s calculated caresses. Instead of continuing the march of kisses past his waist, Medivh lingers on the borderlands, where two scars rest near his navel. He didn’t have them in his youth, so he can understand the fascination, but the need is starting to feel intolerable. 

“Med... Medivh,” he grits his teeth, “this is unnecessary...”

“What is? Touching you? Exploring you?” Medivh laughs. “Have you forgotten how to be patient?”

“No... but you have been _lingering_...”

“This is the first time I have ever seen you like this,” Medivh flashes his eyes upward to meet Khadgar. “It is not enough to simply take you and be done with it. No, I think I will dole out the winner’s spoils how I see fit. After all, it was _my_ wager.”

Medivh places his palm upon the front of Khadgar’s trousers and starts to draw the outline of the bulge there. Gasping, Khadgar’s hips jerk upward in shock, and he grabs hold of the sheet beneath him.

“Trust in me, Khadgar...” Medivh bends down and begins to mouth him through his trousers. “I promised I would take care of you.”

In the span of seconds, Khadgar feels the bowstring inside of himself grow more tense. His toes curl, and the sight and sound of Medivh teasing doesn’t help, but he has, in some ways, trained for this. He never let himself finish easily, always instead preferring a longer indulgence in self-pleasure over the years. This, however... will test the limits of his discipline.

“I admit, I have read every book in my library—did you know? Even my collection of erotica.” Medivh chuckles to himself. “Some were harmless gifts I received from Llane and Lothar…” With each word, he punctuates the confession with a line of breathy kisses up the median of Khadgar’s chest until he once again peers down into his blue eyes. “I especially enjoyed reading Marcus and Raven’s little romp in the hay over a glass of wine.” Mischief sparkles in Medivh’s eyes. “When you read that book did you picture you and I as the main characters? Were you really so eager to handle my enchanted sword?”

Khadgar glares daggers up at Medivh, whose smirk only widens with glee. His face burns, and with a sigh, he presses his face into Medivh’s shoulder and utters, “There are far better romance series than the _Steamy Romance_ novels…” 

“You’re right, there are.” Medivh places a kiss to Khadgar’s ear and lowers his voice darkly. “Perhaps you prefer the moment in _The Lord and His Vallet_ , where young Oliver finds himself bound in ribbons, pressed between his master and the bed, as Lord Orar ruts into him feverishly...” 

Medivh starts to grind down into Khadgar, creating far too dangerous of friction between them, with every thrust turning him further and further into a disheveled mess against the sheets. 

“Or, perhaps you would rather recreate the famous scene from _Petals on the River_ , where Sheriff Morrison finds himself squirming from the ruthlessness of his husband Gabriel’s quick-witted tongue in the loft of their barn…” 

Medivh slides down Khadgar’s body and no longer plays coy. All pretense has vanished from Medivh. He unbuckles Khadgar’s trousers and makes quick work of the rest of his old apprentice’s clothes. Then, his calloused hands drag along the inside of Khadgar’s thighs until they reach the apex. 

“Beautiful,” Medivh murmurs with a deceptively innocent smile that sends a shiver down Khadgar’s spine. Khadgar tries to cover his face with his arm, suddenly overcome and vulnerable, but Medivh won’t have any of it. “Look at me,” he commands. “Don’t you dare try to hide from me.” 

Khadgar removes his arm hesitantly and swallows thickly. He sits up on his elbows and watches Medivh closely. The older mage is right—Khadgar doesn’t want to miss this, not when this is something he’s dreamed about for years. With one hand around the base of his cock and the other on his hip, Medivh takes Khadgar into his mouth, bobbing his head up and down over the length. 

Khadgar’s lips part in a soft gasp that transforms into an embarrassingly loud moan as Medivh wickedly drags his tongue along the underside of his length. Medivh smirks and kisses the head, smearing the trail of precum leaking there. 

Khadgar reaches out to push loose strands of hair away from Medivh’s face with a shaking hand. There have been moments in his life when he felt caught off-guard, but this… this is disarming. He has fantasized about this exact act too many times over the years, lustfully daydreaming and yearning for intimacy with Medivh. Seeing this before his very eyes, knowing it’s all very real...

Medivh draws back and wipes his mouth with his sleeve. He looks over Khadgar, his gaze sweltering with lust as it lingers upon each blossoming love bite across his pale skin. 

“Perhaps, instead,” he begins, his fingertips dancing along Khadgar’s thighs, “your tastes align more closely with one of my own guilty pleasures—the scene from _The Mystery of the Cursed Tower_ , where the masterful archmage finally beds his wayward apprentice at long last…” 

Medivh rolls Khadgar onto his stomach. With a firm grip, he pulls Khadgar up onto his knees and wraps his arm around his chest, holding him close. Khadgar tilts his head and desperately presses a kiss to Medivh’s mouth, swallowing the soft moan that threatened to spill from his lips. 

“Ultimately, I think the story we come up with together will be the most fulfilling all on its own. After all, I have waited decades to write it with you.” 

Khadgar blushes and clasps the hand splayed over his heart. He looks into Medivh’s eyes and sees so much love and longing in those green depths. 

“You… You are far too clothed in comparison,” Khadgar says softly, licking his dry lips. 

“You’re right. Perhaps I _could_ be persuaded to remedy that.” The light-heartedness in Medivh’s eyes turns wicked. “On your hands and knees on my bed. Be a good little apprentice and wait for me.” 

A nervous sweat builds on Khadgar’s brow. He obeys the command without question, his pale skin flushing with color. He feels so vulnerable, so exposed, and when he looks over his shoulder, he sees that Medivh has removed everything but his black trousers. He swallows hard as Medivh saunters back to the bed—clearly, that’s all his old master intends to remove for now. 

Medivh kneels behind Khadgar and grabs hold of him by the waist, bringing their bodies flush together and eliciting a surprised gasp from Khadgar. 

“If you’re well-behaved, Young Trust,” Medivh purrs while grinding into Khadgar, “I’ll undress fully.” 

Red as a tomato, Khadgar glances back over his shoulder and sees Medivh wave his hand, opening a drawer in his writing desk and retrieve a vial of clear liquid. The vial levitates with ease over to Medivh, who uncorks it and starts to pour its contents onto his fingers. Then, Medivh places a hand on the small of his back, caressing him, as the other slicked hand, massages the viscous, warm liquid along his entrance. 

Khadgar moans and bucks back into Medivh kneeling behind him. He feels like he’s about to burst like a volcano in Un’goro. 

“Relax. Take a deep breath.” Medivh’s voice is soft as velvet. “I want to make sure you enjoy every second of this, _champion_.” 

Khadgar groans at Medivh’s playful sarcasm. Medivh must have overheard him using the term around his comrades in the fight against the Legion. 

That bashfulness evolves and erupts into blinding passion when Medivh’s forefinger slips inside of him, hot and tight. Khadgar trembles—he’s never done something like this before to himself, but by the Light has he contemplated it in the past. 

Khadgar realizes in this moment how patient of a lover Medivh is. Despite the teasing, the arrogance, and the charm, Medivh takes his time, almost agonizingly slow. It’s as if Medivh knows exactly what pressure makes Khadgar’s legs feel weak, and Khadgar can feel the burning gaze as Medivh watches his every response like a raven. 

Medivh leans over him to place kisses on his spine while working him open. He moves a finger in and out and eventually adds another. The hand on his back draws lazy circles, scratches him lightly with the tips of nails, and occasionally grabs a cheek firmly enough to leave marks. 

Khadgar feels as though he’s reaching the limits of his own self-control. He’s never gone this long on his own. His erection aches almost painfully, his skin has become sensitive and slick with sweat, and typically well-combed hair has become messy. To anyone else, he’d look like a madman—he feels like one. 

“Medivh, if you…” Khadgar licks his dry lips and tries not to sound so desperate. “If you keep this up, if you don’t…” 

“I want to hear you beg.” 

“By the Light Medivh I’m already—”

“No. You’re not.” Medivh smirks. “I want you incoherent.” 

Khadgar feels the weight in that admission. More warm lubricant slides down his skin, and Medivh starts to move his fingers faster, harder, sometimes scissoring inside of him. Khadgar closes his eyes tight and tries to muffle a moan into Medivh’s pillow, but his old master is uninterested in him holding back. 

Medivh pulls out his fingers and rolls Khadgar onto his back. No more burying his face into a pillow after that. No more hiding his feelings. The fiery gaze fixates upon him. 

“Why deny yourself from what you want, Young Trust?” Medivh asks, his hands ghosting along Khadgar’s thighs and stopping at the base of his engorged cock. Then, he starts to stroke the length slowly, far too languidly, as if he intends to summon the plea with a well-executed ritual. “Well?”

“I… I do…” 

“Then tell me how bad you want it.” Medivh leans close and captures Khadgar’s mouth for a kiss. Then, when he pulls back slightly, he stares down into his blue eyes and murmurs, “I know how talkative you can be—don’t hold back. We’ve both waited so long for this.” 

“Medivh, I…” Khadgar cups Medivh’s cheek and smiles sheepishly up at him. “All I have ever wanted is to be yours…” A gasp spills from his lips as Medivh kisses his neck hard. “Please, I need you.” 

“Put one of these pillows under your hips and spread your legs for me.” 

Medivh slips out of the bed while Khadgar obeys his request. Then, Khadgar watches him remove the rest of his clothes until he’s naked. He can’t help but admire Medivh’s physique; he was a mage, surely, not a warrior like Lothar, but Medivh’s body is fit and handsome. Khadgar has seen more sunlight and become more weather-beaten, but Medivh has certainly metabolized mana-infused pastries better than he has ever been able to. This is where he has always wanted to be—sprawled on Medivh’s bed, ready, waiting, desperate to show him how much he wanted to satisfy the Guardian’s needs.

When Medivh returns to Khadgar, a low noise of approval rumbles in his throat. His green eyes roam over Khadgar’s body bathed in shadows and the red, orange hues from the hearth. Pride swells in his heart to know that Medivh finds him attractive. 

“Do you know how long I’ve wanted this?” Medivh grabs hold of the vial left behind on the bed, pours more into his palm, then coats his cock with a generous amount. “Do you?”

Khadgar can’t help but laugh. It has been some time; to think, this all started from a mere game of Hearthstone. “It has felt like forever.” 

“It has been maddening—restraining myself, pushing you to your limits…” Medivh smiles playfully. “But I think it’s about time we rectified your long bout of chastity.” 

Medivh settles between Khadgar’s spread legs. He grabs a hold of himself, and then draws the head of his length against Khadgar’s entrance in circles to tease him. He then guides his cock past the tight ring of muscle with care. 

They both share a gasp. The sensation is so new for Khadgar he almost forgets to breathe, but Medivh reminds him. A strand of dark hair falls over Medivh’s face as he presses forward, filling Khadgar inch by inch. There’s a moment of stretching pain, but then it evolves something more pleasurable. 

When he’s fully sheathed inside of Khadgar, Medivh leans forward, kisses him, gently, and their hands meet, intertwining together. “I love you so dearly,” he murmurs.

Khadgar touches Medivh’s warm face, and the elder magus leans into his palm. He looks upon Medivh with endearment in his half-lidded eyes. “I never want to forget this moment—please, let Karazhan save this one away.” He draws his hand into Medivh’s loose hair, tugs him forward, then whispers, “I love you, Medivh.” 

The uttered admission rocks Khadgar from his head to his toes. Medivh doesn’t hesitate, he steals Khadgar’s breath away with another kiss. Then, he draws back his hips and starts a steady pace, thrusting into Khadgar while staring down into his smoldering blue eyes. He focuses on his task, his gaze piercing, and he holds Khadgar steady by the hips. There’s no more teasing, no more smug assuredness, just the slap of flesh hitting flesh and the sound of their moans mingling together between kisses. Sweating out confessions and seeking out the divine with intimacy Khadgar believed the Light would never grace him with; he’s grateful to be wrong. 

Khadgar surrenders himself to Medivh, letting inhibition and meekness melt away. He can’t stop the soft, desperate keening noises he makes, and he doesn’t dare try to hide his face in embarrassment. Khadgar’s so taut from the long foreplay, so electrified by pleasure he fears he may overload. He already feels arcane power pulse in his palms, like lightning rods gathering static from the air. He’s never been adept at controlling magic while emotional, and this… is something else entirely. The feeling of being filled, ravaged, fucked senseless, and held at the mercy of Medivh who he trusts with his body, may have felt reckless years ago, but times have changed. Khadgar has never been interested in the simple and safe. 

“If you could see yourself now, Young Trust... Marked by my mouth, writhing on my cock, filled by me…” Medivh smirks, bends his head down, and tugs on Khadgar’s nipple with his teeth. His eyes flash up to meet Khadgar’s, and with a wink, he says, “I want those damned fools in the Kirin Tor to know you’re still mine.” 

Such explicit words hit all the right notes for Khadgar. Driven flustered, he feels like that young apprentice again. Oh how many times he really did want Medivh to do this to him and then for him to be sent back to his teachers in the Kirin Tor as Medivh’s representative… The elder magi would unpleasantly discover that Khadgar was no longer _their_ spy—instead, he had been oh too easily seduced and turned by the clever Guardian himself. 

“Come for me, Khadgar.” 

Khadgar closes his eyes tight and lets out a moan of frustration. He isn’t sure what will happen if he climaxes like this. He feels like he might burst like a supernova—and as good as that might feel in the moment and time, he isn’t sure he wants _that_ particular footnote in the history books. 

“I-I can’t, if I...” Khadgar blushes brightly. “I... I could easily...”

“You won’t. I have you.”

Khadgar shakes his head, flexes his fingers, opens his palms, and as Medivh keeps the steady pace through this, the pure arcane energy in his hands only grows more chaotic, threatening to turn into fire in a moment’s breath.

“Medivh, this power... it is too much, I’ll—”

Medivh cuts him off with a kiss. When he pulls back and stares into Khadgar’s magic-infused eyes, he smiles genuinely. He bends one of Khadgar’s legs and starts to drive into him slower, but deeper. 

“Khadgar. Look at me. Channel it through me.”

Medivh says the commands so calmly despite the exertion that it pulls Khadgar just enough away from the precipice of losing control. 

“Put your hands on my shoulders and _let go_.” 

So Khadgar does as his master commands, wrapping his arms around Medivh’s shoulders and his legs around his waist. It’s the perfect catalyst. He surrenders fully and trusts Medivh more than he ever has in his life. They share a deep kiss, and Khadgar holds on as he finally snaps and lets go. The energy transfers to Medivh, then back to Khadgar, over and over, ramping higher and higher. It’s a type of ecstasy that he has never known. It’s as if they truly are one—joined intimately through body and magic. They climax together, with their names gasped on each other’s lips. 

The arcane energy loop slows until it reaches equilibrium between the two of them. They look into each other's eyes, and Khadgar pushes a strand of hair out of Medivh’s face and cups his cheek. Neither of them move to separate. Instead, they share a deep, satisfied sigh. 

“That felt amazing—every second of it.” Khadgar cracks a wry smile, chuckles, and runs a weak hand through his hair. “To think, all I had to do was beat you at Hearthstone.” 

A rare look of humility washes over Medivh. “You won fair and square.” A smirk spreads across his face, and a glimmer of mischief lights his green eyes. He slips out of Khadgar and moves to lay beside him. “Next time, when I surely win, I think I’ll take inspiration from one or two of those romance novels…” 

Khadgar groans and rolls his eyes, but he can’t stop grinning. “ _If_ you win.” 

“I _always_ win.” 

They clean up, with Medivh doing most of the heavy lifting. Khadgar watches him with a lazy smile upon his face. It’s humbling to see Medivh fuss over him. Afterwards, Medivh joins him in bed again and pulls Khadgar to his chest. He presses a kiss to Khadgar’s forehead and sighs softly. 

Relief floods through Khadgar’s veins. For the first time in his life Khadgar feels his eyes grow heavy with a reassuring presence behind him and a strong arm around his waist. For the first time in decades, he lets himself recall the good memories of Karazhan fully—so many moments shared with Medivh that have been buried away deep in his heart, memories that no one would ever be able to take from him. Not the Legion, not warring factions, not even time itself. As he drifts off to sleep, Khadgar knows he will feel forever grateful for Medivh’s advice and for the power of even the smallest of miracles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for checking out this story! If you enjoyed this piece, please leave a comment! I'm happy to answer any questions and am open to feedback.
> 
> This fic will have a sequel that follows what happens post this evening, but from Medivh's point of view! Stay tuned!


End file.
